Chunky Monkey
by Fidelius Charmer
Summary: To every action, there is a reaction. Oliver learns this lesson when he snacks on Hermione's lovers, Ben & Jerry.
1. Chunky Monkey

Author's Note: I'm such a bad, bad person! I'm horribly sorry for not having updated for such a long period of time, but this year was extremely hectic. Not only that, but my muse (sixth one in two years), Delilah; a figment of my oscillating imagination, had gone on strike. Now Kringlefaber, my third muse, has decided to come back from her prolonged holiday. Please find it in your heart of hearts to forgive a poor girl who will be off to college in a few months time and thank you in advance.

Summary: To every action, there is a reaction. Oliver learns this lesson when he snacks on Hermione's lovers, Ben & Jerry.

Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books, Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

Chunky Monkey

By: Fidelius Charmer

"You're a self-centered pig, I hope you know that!" Hermione yelled as she searched for a heavy object to throw at Oliver. Luckily, there was a vase conveniently placed within hands reach and she made a grab for it. Taking the vase in her hands, she brandished it as if it were a weapon.

"Woman, put the bloody vase down before you hurt someone." Oliver replied from his position behind the couch.

"That would be the purpose, darling," Hermione said sweetly and threw the vase. Oliver ducked just in time and heard the vase '_whoosh_' over his head and shatter as it hit the wall behind him. "Oh, how could you do this to me, Oliver," she sobbed as she slid to the ground.

"Stop being so goddamn theatrical, Hermione," Oliver said. "You are blowing this way-Ow, bloody glass-out of proportion…is it that time of the month again," he asked while bringing his palm up to his lips to remove the shard of glass that was stuck there.

Hermione spat in Oliver's general direction. "What a typical man-thing to say! And no, it's not that time of the month. I just can't believe that you-that you ate the last of the Ben & Jerry's without offering any to me," she said, her bottom lip quivering.

Oliver sighed loudly, eyeing the blood on his hand from the now glass-free cut before he resignedly crawled over to Hermione and wrapped his arms around her. "Honey, I'm so sorry. I was just so hungry after practice and it was the only th-"

"No excuses, Oliver. I really don't need any excuses," Hermione said, holding up her hand to silence him. After a few deep breaths, she felt the urge she had been harboring to strangle the insufferable man diminish. Sighing loudly, she said, "You know, my dear, you're right; I probably did blow this way out of proportion."

"Damn right," Oliver muttered.

Hermione glared at him. "Are you in the mood to lose any limbs, darling," she said between clenched teeth. Oliver shook his head vigorously. "Good…now what was I saying before I was rudely," she jabbed her elbow into his ribs, "interrupted. Ah yes, proportion...in the end, it's still entirely your fault."

Oliver groaned at the abuse, but nevertheless, rested his head atop hers and kissed her temple. "I sincerely regret having ever laid eyes upon your damn pint of Chunky Monkey, my clever, but oh so infuriating Hermione, but please explain to me how a few spoonfuls of banana ice cream can lead to such a violent onslaught," he muttered into her coconut-scented hair.

"Have you noticed the pounds I've magically seemed to acquire over these past few blissful months that we've spent together," she suddenly asked in an almost unintelligible whisper.

A pregnant silence followed and Hermione nervously buried her face into the fetid folds of Oliver's practice shirt. It smelled like a ferret; a ferret that had rolled around in its own feces before dying, but the rancid smell hardly mattered to her. Hermione was too frightened to look up and face Oliver.

Then finally, Oliver opened his mouth and said the most infuriating thing known to human-kind; making Hermione want to throttle him all over again. "I've noticed, my lovely Chunky Monkey, but I always thought it was because of all that Ben & Jerry's you've been eating. Furthermore, what does this have to do with our current predicament?"

Hermione groaned loudly into his shirt, and tightly grasped the foul, cotton fabric. "Do I have to spell everything out for you," she asked as she shook him violently from side to side.

"Well apparently," Oliver said as his eyes widened with fear. That was when all hell broke loose (so to speak), for the next thing he knew, Hermione was straddling him, her hands wrapped tightly around his neck as she banged his head against the hardwood floor. Oliver was terrified by this point in time, and matters didn't improve when he looked up at his (he was almost certain) psychotic girlfriend and saw that she was enjoying herself…profusely.

"I'm pregnant, you twit!" Hermione screeched between each '_thunk_' Oliver's head made as it connected with the living room floor.

"Oh." Then everything faded into oblivion when Oliver Wood, the soon-to-be-father thankfully lost consciousness.


	2. Cherry Garcia

Author's Note: I'm sorry to have put you all through the long wait. I've been out of the country for the past two months, so completing this chapter was a bit of a hassle. I cannot guarantee that Chapter 3 will be completed anytime soon since I'm getting ready to start college come August. Anyway, thanks for all your patience!

Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books, Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

Chunky Monkey - Chapter Two

By: Fidelius Charmer

Oliver groaned; being conscious was a bitch. It was late, from what he could tell, and Hermione was probably fast asleep. He frowned once he realized he was still on the living room floor. "How considerate," he muttered beneath his breath and sat up, rubbing his sore back.

He slowly got up, gritting his teeth as his back protested, and shuffled over to the bedroom that he and Hermione usually shared. Oliver peeked in and saw his girlfriend's sleeping form. He sighed, he was going to have to face her sooner or later; preferably later, but it looked sooner would have to do.

'_I don't need a bed to sleep in_,' he wistfully thought. '_The couch will suffice_.' His back wasn't convinced.

"Oliver, are you going to stand there all night and stare at me? You know I can't sleep when you do that," Hermione groaned and sat up, leaning on her arms. "Come to bed."

Those were all the words of encouragement that he needed. He literally jumped into bed, making it creak in protest. "Oliver!" Hermione punched his chest. "You smell like roadkill. At least go and change out of your practice clothes," she said, scrunching up her nose.

"I'm too tired to get up," he said into his pillow. Hermione jabbed his side with her elbow and slowly, with his head hung in defeat, he crawled out of bed. "Why the hell do I take this abuse from you?" He opened a drawer and pulled out a shirt, sniffed it and tossed it on the bed. Opening another drawer, he pulled out a pair of boxers with tiny golden snitches and it joined the shirt.

"Because you love me," Hermione said. "Now take those filthy clothes off, get dressed, and come to bed." She patted the bed and smiled.

"Yes Ma'am," he replied dutifully, saluting his girlfriend in a comical manner. He grabbed the hem of his shirt and took it off quickly, tossing it onto a pile of clothing that was forming in the corner. His pants quickly joined the discarded shirt. He shuffled over to their bed and donned his night ensemble before pulling back the covers and climbing underneath their warm depths. Sighing contentedly, he wriggled to find a comfortable position.

Hermione had watched the whole routine with a hungry, almost feral glint in her eyes. Once Oliver was settled, she placed her hand over his broad chest, her thumb caressing the sensitive spot on his collar bone. Oliver groaned and she smirked at the sound, propping herself on her elbow. "Tell me, how on earth did a studious creature such as myself, snag a man like you," she drawled, leaning closer to Oliver until their lips were mere centimeters apart.

Oliver groaned again. "Well, I have to admit that you weren't the usual type I went after," he grinned before continuing. "But there was something about you. I could see that underneath that studious demeanor of yours, hid a passionate creature just aching to get out." He slid his hands up the curves of her voluptuous hips. "And who knew that underneath those robes hid such blinding perfection. Everything about you, my dear Hermione, makes my mouth water."

"Good," Hermione said, and traced his lips with the tip of her tongue. Oliver growled in response, the noise vibrating against her palm and making her shudder. Then, without warning, Oliver's lips latched hungrily onto hers. Hermione let out a surprised squeak, but their joined lips muffled the sound. Pulling back slightly, Hermione nipped Oliver's bottom lip, her tongue quickly followed.

"Oh Gods," Hermione groaned as Oliver pulled away, scattering chaste kisses across her jaw-line and traveling further down to the sensitive spot beneath her ear. His lips latched on, sucking and licking until Hermione was writhing above him. She placed a trembling hand on his chest and pushed him away. "We should stop," she said, her voice husky.

Oliver looked at her, confusion clearly spread across his handsome features. "Why?" He asked, bringing his hands up to cup her face. "You seemed perfectly willing just a few moments ago," he said, sounding slightly offended.

Hermione leaned down and lay her head against his chest, running her hand across the soft, cotton fabric. She sighed and shook her head. "I know I was, but you're in no condition to-you know," she said, blushing. She looked up and saw Oliver frown. "My dear, you've got a bump the size of a large walnut." She brought her hand up to touch the bump, but stop mid-journey when Oliver shied away.

"So," Oliver growled. "How is that supposed to inhibit my performance? It's on my head!"

Hermione glared at Oliver. "Is everything about sex with you? Is that the only thing that runs through your thick head? It must be, or else I wouldn't have ended up like this," she hissed furiously, while gesturing to her flat tummy.

"Don't place all the blame on me," he said, pushing Hermione off of him. "You know, those muggle's have a saying, perhaps you know of it. Just in case you've forgotten, let me refresh your memory." He sat up and glared at Hermione, crossing his arms against his chest. "I believe it's something along the lines of, it takes two to make a baby!"

Hermione returned his glare and jabbed his chest with her index finger. "Don't you dare belittle me! If anyone has the right to be condescending, it's me. Definitely not some half-witted Quidditch Keeper with a brain the size of a snitch!"

It didn't take long for Hermione to regret what she had said, and feeling wretched, she thought it would be appropriate to place her right foot back where it belonged; in her mouth (so to speak). "Oh love, I really didn't mean that," she quickly apologized.

Oliver was nevertheless shocked by Hermione's hurtful exclamation and knew that forgiving her was definitely out of the question. "That was low, Hermione," he said after a long and painful silence. Then, kicking off the sheets, he made to rise from the bed, but paused when he felt Hermione's restraining hand.

"Where are you going," she asked softly. Oliver turned and looked at her; he noticed the slight frown creasing her brow and unconsciously brought his hand up to smooth it. Shaking his head, he withdrew his hand and bit his bottom lip as he considered how to answer her.

As Hermione waited for his response, she sat up and lay her head against his shoulder. "Don't leave, please," she looked up at him, pleading. Her shoulders slumped when she noticed that he suddenly avoiding looking at her.

"I don't want to, but Hermione," he said, gripping the hand nearest him. "I can't take this damn abuse anymore!" He gave her hand a slight squeeze before rising from their bed. He walked to the closet and grabbed a pair of jeans, putting them on and zipping them up as he made his way to the bedroom door. He grabbed his jacked from the chair beside the door and slipped it on.

"I didn't mean it...I'm sorry," Hermione whispered hoarsely, wiping tears from her cheeks.

Oliver paused, one hand on the door handle, while the other hand held a pair of sneakers. He looked back at Hermione and sighed. "I'm afraid sorry isn't going to work this time, love," he said, opening the door and stepping through.


	3. Half Baked

Authors Note: Alright, so I got this chapter up sooner than I expected. Kudos for me! I had quite a few hours of downtime so I thought I'd do something productive. Enjoy and please review; your opinions are greatly appreciated.

Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books, Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

Chunky Monkey-Chapter Three

By: Fidelius Charmer

Hermione buried her face in her pillow, not caring that her tears would ruin the silk cases. She felt guilty for pushing Oliver away. Though the feat had not been done physically, her words, which she thought to be playful banter, had been the equivalent of a hard push out the door. She should have known that he would take her words to heart.

"Oh, what a wretched creature I've become!" She turned over on the bed, lying on her back and placed both hands on her flat tummy. "Your mother is a beast, a foul creature that pushes away those dearest to her," she whispered, stroking her tummy absentmindedly.

She suddenly let out a loud yawn; it had been a long day for Hermione and she felt exhausted. She turned onto her side, trying to find a comfortable position, but it appeared that comfort would flee her that night, just as Oliver had. '_Or maybe my comfort is Oliver,' _she thought sadly, knowing that her thoughts spoke the truth.

* * *

Oliver shivered and flipped the collar of his coat to shield him from the cold winter evening. The streets of London were silent, except for a scattering of cars, taxis, and the wandering drunkard. The pubs were all closing for the night, their lights flickering into darkness as stools and chairs were stacked, and counters wiped clean. Oliver duly noted his surroundings and numbly continued his stroll down the street.

He had no idea where he was heading and instantly regretted leaving the warm comfort of his London flat. He shook his head. Who was he kidding; he hadn't wanted to leave the warm comfort of Hermione's loving embrace. His flat could burn to the ground for all he cared just as long as his Hermione was beside him.

Oliver sighed, his breath visible as it hit the frigid night air. A mental battle was raging inside his head, urging him to walk onward, but at the same time to return to his beloved girlfriend. He hadn't wanted to walk out on her, but he knew that had he stayed that night, many others like it would follow.

He grimaced at the thought of a mundane relationship filled with mundane activities, empty words, fierce arguments, and empty promises. Oliver wanted his life with Hermione to be something special. He wanted a relationship where passion was in abundance, and happiness the most common feeling felt. He didn't hope for perfection, knowing that even though they were magical, witches and wizards weren't perfect. He knew that not everything could be fixed with the flick of a wand.

He was slightly surprised upon realizing that he wanted such a relationship with Hermione, who as he had already admitted, wasn't the usual type he found himself attracted to. He was more surprised to realize he even wanted a long lasting relationship.

He had always envisioned his life to be filled with one night stands and relationships that ended once the girlfriend discovered him in bed with her best friend. He was expected to be an inconsiderate, lustful bastard, just like any other good-looking, well off athlete under the age of 35.

Oliver snorted; the description had once described him to the par. Before Hermione, he hadn't been the monogamous sort; having many lady friends to satisfy his insatiable lust. Most of the women he associated with, fit under the stereotypical description of a blonde; loose and unintelligent. He was still scratching his head in confusion as to what had initially led him to notice Hermione.

For Oliver, Hermione had always been Harry Potter's best friend; the brains behind the Boy-Who-Lived. Had anyone told him that she would be the love of his life even two years ago, he would have thought the person to be absolutely bonkers, off their rocker, nutters, whatever term commonly used to describe someone belonging in an asylum.

He shook his head; he was starting to get a headache. Rubbing his temple, he came to a standstill before lifting his gaze from the sidewalk to observe his surroundings. He wasn't surprised to find himself standing outside the Leaky Cauldron. He opened the door without further thought and walked into the dark, smoky pub.

Blinking rapidly, his eyesight slowly adjusted to the dark interior. Once he could see, he looked around the pub, noting the group of wizards sitting in a nearby booth, drowning their sorrows with a pint of ale. His gaze passed over them and halted once falling upon a familiar figure sitting in a dark corner booth, nursing a glass of firewhiskey. He strode over toward the booth and took a seat, not waiting for an invitation. "Somehow I'm not surprised to see you here," he said to the man beside him.

The man looked up from his drink and chuckled. "Yes, I'm not surprised to see me here either," he sighed, all good humor seeping away as he took a sip from his glass. "What are you doing here, Oliver? Shouldn't you be at home with _your_ lovely Hermione," he said bitterly.

Oliver frowned at the man, but chose to ignore the bitterness in his voice. He turned away from him and flagged down Tom, ordering a pint of ale. Once the alcoholic beverage was brought to him, he took a healthy gulp and set the tankard down on the table. Only then did he turn to regard the booth's other occupant. "We had a slight disagreement," he said. His companion quirked his eyebrow, but said nothing. " Damn it Lupin, don't look at me that way," he said angrily, glaring at the lycanthrope. "So it was slightly bigger than a disagreement, alright!"

"The bump on your head told me as much, my boy," Remus said, the corner of his lips lifting into a small, almost unnoticeable smile. "Now, if I may be so bold as to ask the cause of this injury," he drawled, lazily gesturing toward the small lump on Oliver's forehead.

Oliver bit is bottom lip and looked a away from Remus, lowering his gaze toward his tankard of ale. "Chunky Monkey," he muttered.

"Pardon?"

Oliver growled, slamming his fists onto the table. "I said Chunky Monkey, Goddamn it! It's a blasted ice cream flavor!"

Remus licked his lips before answering Oliver. "Now that doesn't sound like the calm, level-headed Hermione I know," he said.

"No, it doesn't," Oliver replied, taking another gulp of his ale. He played with the handle of his tankard absentmindedly, staring off into the dark pub as he recalled the angry Hermione he had come to know. "She's been overly emotional these past few weeks. Hormones, I guess."

"Hormones?"

Oliver sighed and buried his face in his hands. "Yes, she's pregnant."

Remus' face paled upon hearing the news. "Oh, congratulations," he said, his voice strained as he half-heartedly congratulated the young man.

Oliver looked up from between his hands and glared at Remus. He had tried to ignore Lupin´s moodiness toward his relationship with Hermione, but his suspicions were rapidly eating away his friendly demeanor. "Why don't I believe you," he said angrily. "It seems to me that you're jealous of me and Hermione." He scooted over toward Remus and grabbed a handful of his robes. "What is she to you, Lupin! Tell me," he growled.

Remus pried Oliver's hands from his robes, and got up from the booth. He stopped to regard Oliver with a hateful expression. "She was mine before you came along! She was _mine,_" he whimpered and covered his face with his hands.

"No," Oliver whispered, his voice filled with disbelief.

"Yes," Remus replied sadly, shaking his head as he walked away from the booth and out the door.

Oliver stared at the door Remus had exited from for a few moments before he turned to regard his half-empty tankard. "Right. Tom, I think I need something stronger."


	4. In A Crunch

Author's Note: I apologize for the long wait, dear Readers. College has been slightly more demanding than I previously expected and I have had little if any time for myself these past couple months. I hope you'll forgive a poor, tired college girl. Thank you for your patience and I hope you enjoy this chapter. Please don't forget to review. Tell me your opinion; it's the only way I'll be able to improve!

Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books, Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

Chunky Monkey-Chapter Four

By: Fidelius Charmer

Hermione groaned, grabbing a pillow to cover her head as she burrowed deeper into the covers. She had cried until the early morning hours, but eventually her loud sobs had diminished into wet sniffling and lots of nose wiping. Her head was throbbing from a powerful headache and she could swear she heard actual pounding. She paused, lying still underneath the covers and strained to listen to the noise. Hermione frowned once realizing that the loud pounding was not, as she had first thought, a symptom of her headache, but rather someone banging on her front door. She rolled over and glanced at the clock, her frown deepening. '_Who in their right mind would visit at four in the morning,_' she thought as she got out of bed.

She stopped in front of a large mirror beside her dresser and gazed at her reflection; her hair was an unruly mass of curls sticking out at odd angles. She tried to run her fingers through it only to encounter various large knots that failed to comply with her attempts to tame them. She sighed and turned away from the mirror, shuffling over to the adjoining bathroom's door and grabbing the robe that was hanging behind it. She donned the robe as she shuffled down the hallway that lead to the entryway and walked quickly through the living room, desperately trying to ignore the memories that simmered to the surface of her mind.

She stood on tip-toe as she peered through the small peephole and gasped. '_What on earth is he doing here,_' she thought as she unhooked the chain from the door and quickly unlocked it. She opened the door a crack and peered outside, staring at the man that stood before her. "Remus, what brings you here at this ungodly hour," she asked, opening the door slightly wider.

"Mind if I come in?" He asked; a pitiful, almost desperate look crossed over his countenance before disappearing. Hermione didn't reply, but stepped back from the door to allow him in. As he passed through the threshold, she closed the door silently behind him and locked it.

Remus stood nervously beside her, his hands toying with the frayed ends of his coat sleeves as he looked around her living room. She turned away from him and headed over to the kitchen. "Go ahead and hang up your coat. I'll set some water to boil," she said, walking through the swinging doors. She opened a cabinet and pulled out a large kettle, filling it with water from the sink before setting it on the stove to boil. "I'm afraid we don't have any lemons," she said, looking over at the empty fruit basket.

"That's alright; I'll just have mine with milk," Remus replied from the doorway.

"Right, well make yourself comfortable, it'll be a few minutes till it's ready," Hermione said, turning to face Remus who had entered through the swinging doors. She took a seat on one of the stools in front of the kitchen island and leaned on her elbows, staring at the werewolf as he took a seat beside her.

A few minutes passed in uncomfortable silence as they stared at each other, both uncertain about what to say to the other. The loud shriek that suddenly erupted from the kettle made both of them startle and look away from each other guiltily.

Hermione was the first to move, rising from her seat to grab a thick towel to remove the kettle from the stove and shutting it off. She procured two teacups and matching saucers from the cabinet beside the stove and set them aside. Grabbing the kettle, she carefully poured the hot water over a tea strainer containing her favorite blend of tea leaves and chamomile; watching it seep through into the teapot she had used the day before. Remus had quickly risen from his stool and shuffled over to the refrigerator, pulling out a small container of cream that he set on top of the island.

"Let's take this into the living room. I'm sure the couch will be much more comfortable," Hermione said, pulling out a small tray and placing the teacups, saucers, teapot, and cream onto it.

"I'll take that," Remus said, grabbing the tray and walking through the swinging doors with Hermione close behind. He set the tray carefully on an antique coffee table before plopping himself onto the couch with a loud sigh.

"So what brings you to my humble abode Professor Lupin," Hermione said, pouring the tea and cream.

"It's Remus, Hermione," he said,looking atHermione as she shrugged her shoulders while carefully stirring her steaming cup of tea.

Hermione cleared her throat and looked at the werewolf beside her. "Well then _Remus_, what brought you to my doorstep at four in the morning?"

"I ran into Oliver at the Leaky Cauldron. He told me what happe-"He quieted when Hermione made a silencing gesture. "Why should we not discuss this Hermione," he said, grasping her hands in his.

"I don't want to."

"He walked out on you," he said while absentmindedly stroking the top of her hand with his callused thumb.

"I pushed him away, Remus. I was a righteous bitch toward him," Hermione muttered.

Remus let go of Hermione's hands, instead wrapping his arms around her tiny figure and bringing her closer to him. Hermione sighed and leaned into Remus, resting her head on his shoulder and burrowing her face into the crook of his neck. She inhaled deeply, savoring the scent of woods and musk that belonged solely to him. "I didn't want him to go," her voiced hitched.

"But he did. He left you when you needed him most," Remus spoke into her hair.

"He did, but it's my fault. I said the most wretched things to him."

"You apologized?"

"Yes."

"Well why did he leave then?"

"To make a point, I guess," Hermione said, although her mind was whirling. Why did he leave? Was their relationship really that insignificant that he would just give up without attempting to make amends? "You know, you're right Remus! Why didn't Oliver try patching things up like a responsible adult?"

"Therein lies the question, Hermione dearest." A long silence followed as both were lost in their thoughts, sipping at their cooling cups of tea every so often. Remus was observing Hermione from the corner of his eye, a small smirk playing at the corners of his mouth as he watched her biting her lower lip. It was a habit she had whenever she was deep in thought or puzzling over a situation; something he thought adorable. He turned to regard her fully when she set her teacup and saucer down on the tray, setting his down as well. It appeared that the young witch had finally come to a decision.

"Oh, to hell with Oliver," Hermione suddenly exclaimed as she leaned back and captured the werewolf's lips in a passionate kiss. She felt a shock ripple through her when he returned her kiss, licking her upper lip to gain entrance to her mouth. She willingly obliged and opened up to his seeking tongue, moaning as their tongues met and sparred with each other. Pulling back, Hermione turned to straddle Remus and draped her arms around his neck. Remus placed his hands on her waist in return and leaned forward, resting his forehead against hers. "Why did you leave me Remus," Hermione whispered, looking deeply into his amber eyes. She saw regret and pain flash across them and leaned in to place a soft, tender kiss on his lips.

"Why would you want an old, tired man; a werewolf moreover, Hermione," Remus replied, his voice hoarse with emotion.

"You silly man, I wanted you. I loved you and you pushed me away."

"I thought you deserved better," Remus said, looking past Hermione. His eyes glazed as he remembered the feelings that had coursed through him at the sight of his Hermione and that foolish Quidditch playing nitwit, Oliver Wood together. "You moved on. You're with Oliver now," he said, staring at her again.

"Apparently he's moved on as well," she said, shrugging. "He had his chance, and now you have yours."

"Oliver loves you, Hermione."

Hermione leaned in closer to Remus, her lips mere centimeters away from his. "You love me too," she stated.

"Yes."

They kissed.


End file.
